Every time a government talks about "development," somewhere a patch of forest quietly disappears.
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Recently, a 400-acre stretch of forest land next to the University of Hyderabad landed in the crosshairs of the Telangana government. The plan? Clear it out and auction it for IT infrastructure. But the backlash was quick — from students, environmentalists, and eventually, even the Supreme Court, which stepped in and asked a very basic question: Why the rush?
This isn’t just a Hyderabad story. It's a symptom of something bigger — the way we treat forests as obstacles instead of assets.
Let’s bring the focus back home — to Assam and the Northeast. We still have some of India’s richest green cover. Hills blanketed with forest, rivers crisscrossing dense bamboo groves, and wild elephants walking like they own the place — because, frankly, they do.
But here’s the reality check: between 2021 and 2023, Assam lost 86 sq km of forest inside Recorded Forest Areas. Tripura lost 116 sq km. Manipur and Arunachal Pradesh followed close behind. These aren't just numbers — they're shrinking habitats, lost biodiversity, and warnings of what could come.
And here’s the twist — as per reports Mizoram gained 192 sq km of forest cover during the same time. If one small state in the Northeast can increase its green cover, what’s stopping the others?
The idea that forests must be sacrificed for progress is outdated. Trees are not speed bumps on the road to development. They are the road, the fuel, and the reason we can breathe at all.
Take a look at any ‘tree-felling-for-development’ debate, and you’ll see the same template: Government proposes, people protest, courts intervene, and eventually, some half-hearted compromise is made — usually too little, too late. We’ve seen this in Hyderabad, Mumbai’s Aarey colony, Goa’s Mollem forests, and in countless smaller pockets that never make headlines.
Forests don’t fight back. They don’t vote. But they carry the cost of our convenience.
Assam is still fortunate. We have the Kaziranga and several other national parks and forest areas, the forests of Karbi Anglong and more. But for how long?
We’re already seeing the signs — rising temperatures, erratic floods, dry spells in places that once overflowed with rain. What used to be seasonal weather has turned into a slot machine.
When we cut forests, we’re not just removing trees. We’re clearing out entire ecosystems: birds, insects, reptiles, mammals — even the soil loses its soul. Forests take decades to grow and minutes to wipe out. Yet somehow, we still treat them like spare land waiting to be monetised.
Let’s be clear — development is essential. We need schools, hospitals, employment hubs, and yes, digital infrastructure. But what we don’t need is the lazy shortcut of bulldozing our way to it.
Sustainable development isn’t a slogan — it’s a necessity. And if we don’t get that now, the cost will come in the form of heatwaves, floods, vanishing wildlife, and air that burns more than it heals.
So the question is not whether we should develop — of course we should. The real question is: what kind of development are we chasing? One where we plant concrete and uproot life? Or one that builds with nature, not against it?
We’re at a crossroads. The choices we make today — in Telangana, in Assam, across India and the world — will echo for generations. Do we want our children to inherit concrete memories of lost forests? Or do we want them to walk under green canopies, hearing birds that don’t only exist in books?
Let’s not trade a living future for a shiny present. Forests aren’t our past — they’re our insurance for what lies ahead.
(The author is the Commissioner of Police, Guwahati and STF Chief, Assam. All views and opinions expressed in the article are the author's own)
